I think I held my breath for the entire December. In conversations with friends and family, I try to explain that I’ve lived more lives this year than I have in my entire life put together. Every aspect of my life was tested and strengthened in some way: friendships, relationships, skillsets, spirituality. Here’s my one-sentence summary of each month:
January: I narrowly escaped a major car accident.
February: Over 30,000 people came to my tiny college town in one weekend, and an article I wrote about the experience received international attention.
March: So much travel. From Georgia to Florida for a Sabrina Carpenter concert, to North Carolina to see UK play in March Madness.
April: Designed an entire yearbook with my friend Maria and moved into my first apartment with my friend Madi.
May: Traveled overseas to a small community in Northern Ireland with people who are now some of my closest friends.
June: Spent a lot of time working at the cutest vintage store in the world and babysitting 20 hours a week with two very sweet, energetic girls.
July: Celebrated my twenty-first birthday with a lot of fanfare, mainly due to having the best friends a girl could ask for.
August: Started my senior year, my position as Executive Editor of the student-run newspaper, and working in the Center for Academic Excellence at Asbury, and also said goodbye to my childhood home.
September: Balanced my jobs, assignments, and tests while also escaping with Maria to Kings Island.
October: Another month of working, writing, and traveling again to Florida for fall break.
November: I lost my keys, Stanley, and got COVID in the span of one week.
December: Graduated from Asbury and said goodbye to all the things that came with, spent Christmas break in our new home, and celebrated Madi’s book launch on New Year’s Eve.
Have I worn you out yet? The main word that surmises my 2023 experience is loud. Jam-packed with communication, confusion, and joy, a lot of ruckus made it difficult to find any kind of routine to quiet the noise, whether good or bad. However, a few moments of silence made the overwhelming emotions and turmoil easier to swallow. These moments were not life-changing, but I have found beautiful depth in them. Here are my sacred, quiet moments of 2023:
January: My dorm room was a disaster from unease and stress. After an incredibly hard week, I deep-cleaned my entire room. I shifted around the art in my room, removing old pieces and adding new ones. I remember color-coordinating the books on my desk to a blend of creams, pinks, and purples. A minor change for everyone else, but it was one that shifted the trajectory of my entire year.
February: As Asbury’s campus was flooded with people, my friends and I escaped to my favorite coffee shop. After a long conversation, I sat with them and wrote the article that would change my view of my writing. As someone who hates having someone “look over her shoulder” before something is published, I actually let my friends read my article before publishing. Their uplifting feedback meant more to me at that moment than the entire response. There is something so revolutionary around encouragement from people who know you intimately.
March: I am a sucker for sunrises and sunsets. When we were in Ft. Lauderdale, Maria and I desperately tried to get up to watch the sunrise to no avail. Finally, one morning, our alarm went off, and we didn’t press snooze. We tumbled out of bed and decided we wouldn’t change to make it to the beach. Instead, we pulled open the sliding door to the balcony and adjusted our seating to face the beach. Wrapped in blankets with chilly wind biting our cheeks, we sat there for maybe 3 minutes until we took a selfie that would never see the light of day and stumbled back into bed. We gave it our best effort, but we listened to our bodies and ended up choosing rest over an additional experience.
April: After getting back to my dorm from a movie night, I snuck into my friend Sadie’s room and played with her dog Maggie. I put my phone away and just was present with her sweet dog. Eventually, Sadie returned, and we had a life-giving conversation. In the midst of moving and finals, a pause made the speed so much easier.
May: Our house in Northern Ireland had a beautiful garden as its backyard. We had a break in our day, and all of us wandered outside. Eight of us sat outside and read at the wooden picnic table set in the middle of the green. We weren’t studying anything, we weren’t reading the same book, but we all were spending time together independently. I know I’ll never be able to recreate that moment, and I wouldn’t want to. I hope I always remember the feeling of the wind and the sound of the foliage whispering between the turning of pages.
June: Madi and I had a free Saturday where we got breakfast bagels in the morning (always my first choice). Listening to “Hypotheticals” by Lake Street Dive, we zoomed down Harrodsburg Road with the windows rolled down. The day was too nice to stay inside, so Madi wanted to ride her bike. I pulled a lawn chair out into our apartment’s parking lot and watched her ride around in circles until she broke her bike.
July: My great-uncle passed away during my sophomore year of high school, and my great-aunt was gracious enough to give me his film cameras. While working at Street Scene, one of my coworkers showed me the “new” vintage keychains we were about to put on the floor. One of them was a Minolta keychain, the brand of his main film camera. I immediately snatched it up; it hadn’t left my keys since. I never got to share my love of photography with him, but I feel that indescribable quiet nudge of support whenever I get ready to go anywhere.
August: Before the Five Seconds of Summer concert, Madi, Maria, and I took our time getting ready in our hotel room. We didn’t have scissors for my fashion tape, so we used a giant kitchen knife from the room’s kitchenette (with minimal success) to slice through it. It’s a memory I’d forget if I didn’t write it down. I think it’s a significant reminder of how important it is to have friends who will hold either side of gaumy tape as you attempt to slice through it with a giant knife. That takes serious trust, vulnerability, and dedication.
September: I spent a sunny afternoon at our new house with just my little sister. We swam in our new pool (a luxury we never thought we would have) and gossiped about both sides of our lives before we went out for dinner together. I hate being unable to watch her grow up as closely as I would like, as I feel like I’m still growing up, too. In the pool riding a giant unicorn floatie, we were able to grow together for a bit again.
October: On another brief trip home, I got to meet my friends Arianha and Logan and their newborn baby Annalia. We quietly strolled through Westside Park as Annalia slept. We felt incredibly old as we wandered around crunching autumnal leaves underfoot, but I realized as my age is settling into my system, so are my friendships.
November: After a long conversation with my professor about all things graduation, design, and theology, I sat on a bench outside our library as the sun began to set. I watched the green to my left and noticed the sun’s rays illuminating spiderwebs linking blades of grass. It was by far the slowest, most influential moment of my year. We’re all linked, our stories woven and intertwined with one another, but we will never see it if we don’t take the time to be still.
December: Madi and I celebrated Christmas in our apartment. We donned our matching pajamas and took time to exchange gifts. We didn’t even plan to, but our gifts somehow aligned in the same exact pattern: a book, a fancy cup, artwork, and something silly we’d never purchase on our own. I’m grateful to have a roommate with humble intentionality and that we had a night to set aside everything we’d experienced to just enjoy each other’s presence.
If your year felt like chaos, I would encourage you to look back at your camera roll and think about the moments that brought you the most rest. Because although this year was scarily wonderful, awful, and exhilarating, it was also life-giving, mundane, and slow. Both sides should be held with the highest regard.
